


Checkup

by InuShiek



Series: Equus [2]
Category: MTMTE - Fandom, Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bondage, Gags, M/M, Medical Kink, NSFW, Oral Fixation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pony Play, Slash, Spanking, Sticky, Vaginal Fingering, there is also brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 11:03:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2730053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InuShiek/pseuds/InuShiek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodimus Prime's morning starts off lazy and warm, but Ultra Magnus has plans for him. It's been a while since Rodimus was given a physical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Checkup

**Author's Note:**

> stop meeeeeeeeeeeeeee
> 
> also: "veterinary kink" isn't a logged tag b/c it sounds weird I guess. (then again, neither is "pet play" it's all "master/pet") STILL THOUGH this is a "veterinary" exam on our little hot rod pony. Slightly distinct from medical kink. slightly.
> 
> also also: I was very tempted to have Magnus just wash everything, but then I realized that you guys might not be down for Roddy having water sprayed in his face to make him sputter and gasp. Baby steps for you guys. Small progress.

After being fragged through Ultra Magnus's berth late into the night, the blue mech had carefully untacked the Prime, unlocked his ankles, and rubbed gentle circles across his frame. Rodimus had enjoyed the rubbing immensely, and had to fight off recharge long enough to assure Magnus that he wasn't sore and really enjoyed his evening. That had pleased Ultra Magnus, and he'd gently pulled Rodimus up to sleep atop the broad blue chassis, nice and warm.

Upon waking, Ultra Magnus asked him again if anything was sore or hurt. "Nah, didn't do enough to  _get_ sore," Rodimus says with a cheeky grin. There have been times in the past where he'd spent an entire day as a pony, with breaks only long enough to refuel around his bit before he was put back to work. Those were the especially fun and satisfying scenes in a deliciously exhausting way. "I really liked that thing Drift had me doing, dressage, wasn't it? Everyone was watching."

"It... It was hard not to," Ultra Magnus admits, remembering how Rodimus's frame had flexed and jerked underneath Drift's guidance before the Prime had comprehended. "Though I believe locked ankles subtracted from it, unfortunately."

"Yeah, probably. It was hard to move as fluidly as I think I was supposed to."

Magnus hums in agreement, "Still, you looked wonderful, and I believe I overheard Rung asking Drift about it. He seemed very interested in learning about this 'dressage' and perhaps practicing it with you."

Rodimus Prime beams, engine purring happily. "That'd be awesome! Rung is fun when he actually breaks out of his shell. Hey, Tailgate and Cyclonus stuck around, didn't they?" Ultra Magnus nods in answer to the Prime's question. "I lost sight of them, but I didn't think they left. You know, sometimes I feel like they're especially interested. Have you noticed it?"

"I do spend time watching them, and they whisper between themselves quite often. I've concluded that they are learning and making notes for their own escapades."

At that, Rodimus nearly chokes. "What!?" he manages to force out, stunned.

"Is that really so strange sounding? You enjoy being paraded around and shared amongst the crew. What is to say that they don't enjoy playing together in private?"

"Well.... That's true I guess.... Okay fine, you win this round," Rodimus concedes, still laying limply across the blue mech's chassis. "No word from Optimus's crew yet, I assume?"

"Nothing yet."

Rodimus sighs dramatically, forcing himself to be impatiently bored rather than nervous.

"Not to worry," Ultra Magnus distracts the red mech. "You have an appointment today."

The Prime is confused, pulling up his official calendar and finding nothing scheduled- no meetings, no paperwork- nothing. "Wha-mff!"

Ultra Magnus has popped a ball into Rodimus's mouth, which is part of his halter. "You need a checkup. We have to make sure our pony is in the best of health, don't we?" he asks on behalf of the crew, not expecting an answer as he buckles the halter around the Prime's helm. It is essentially the same as his bridle (actually, it IS the bridle with parts switched out), only the blinkers have been removed, a ballgag replacing the bit, and the chin strap to keep the Prime's mouth closed around the bit is gone. Overall, this makes the gear more comfortable to wear- especially when Ultra Magnus leaves all of the buckles one hole looser than he would were it being used as a bridle at the moment.

The blue mech rolls over so that Rodimus is lying beneath him, and the Prime automatically spreads his legs, engine revving eagerly. "Shhh, settle down," Magnus soothes while he once more tethers the Prime's forearms to upper arms and covers his servos with the mitts. "You're going to be a good boy for the veterinarian, aren't you?"

Rodimus nods before the lead is clipped to his halter, tugging him up. Without the use of his arms, Rodimus cannot climb off the berth as he normally would. Instead, he has to roll up until he's able to get to his knees, and then crawl over to the edge of the berth so he can stand. Ultra Magnus is patient for this, and the Prime is tugged along to the washracks. He stands patiently while the blue mech adjusts the water temperature, and he moves when prompted to the middle of the room before his halter is clipped to the wall on either side by long, thin chains.

The Prime has always like crossties. Something about being tethered in the middle of the room and not to a post or wall just makes him feel more vulnerable, and that has his interfacing array heating up right away.

Ultra Magnus pours some soap onto a warm, wet cloth, and he applies it to the back of the Prime's neck. Rodimus sighs happily when the soapy water flows down his frame, and the larger mech begins rubbing the cloth in circles along the pony's plating. "Can't have you looking like a mess for the vet, now can we?" Magnus asks.

Relaxing into the cleaning, Rodimus shakes his helm. Ultra Magnus moves methodically around and down his frame, carefully cleaning each individual armor plate fully before moving on to the next. When prompted, Rodimus shifts his weight and lifts a foot for the mech, allowing him to thoroughly clean the appendage. Rodimus holds it up for Ultra Magnus rather than make the mech support its weight, and he receives a pat on his aft in praise.

Finished with the first foot, Ultra Magnus allows the pony to place it back on the floor before moving to the other side and asking for the other and beginning to wash it as well. Rodimus doesn't complain, being patient while attention is lavished on him. It's usually when he's being ignored that Rodimus Prime gets truly impatient and fidgety. On more than one occasion Ultra Magnus has caught the pony attempting to untie himself.

Ultra Magnus releases the Prime, delivering another pat and a brief squeeze to his aft. "Good boy," he praises quietly, but it still makes Rodimus stand straighter in pride. "Open."

The pony's panel opens immediately, and Ultra Magnus is glad that Rodimus can't see his optics trace the flow of the purple tinted lubricant down his thighs- mixing with the water. In a utilitarian manner, Magnus applies the soapy cloth to the Prime's array, washing away the old and fresh lubricant. Knowing that the pony will only leak a mess onto himself all over again anyway, Ultra Magnus finishes washing the area and retrieves the spray nozzle from its place hanging on the wall. Starting from the neck, Ultra Magnus rinses all of the suds from in and on the pony's frame, spending no extra time on the dripping spike and valve despite how much he knows Rodimus wants him to overload him that way.

With as much lubricant washed away as is possible, Ultra Magnus hangs the nozzle back on the wall and kneels in front of the pony. Carefully, he grasps the straining spike between two digits and forces it back down into its housing.

This gets a reaction from the poor pony. Rodimus squeals, stepping backwards from Magnus, but the large mech follows him easily, and the crossties don't afford him much slack anyway.

"Shhhh," Ultra Magnus soothes him, cupping his other servo around the pony's aft to prevent most of his continued struggles. "There's a good boy. Easy."

Rodimus struggles to reach down and brace his hands on Magnus's shoulders, but his bindings hold his arms securely. As many times as they've played this game, Ultra Magnus has never done  _this_ before. The sensation of having his spike forced back into his frame feels wrong. It doesn't hurt, not at all with how careful the large mech is being, but it feels almost like the stretch of a spike filling his valve, only it's his own spike filling its own housing. He groans piteously, squeezing his thighs together in vain as he gives another tug at the crossties for freedom. He's still held securely, however, and the pony can only whine loudly around his ball gag when he feels the mech's large thumb flatten against his housing, holding his pressurized spike within.

"Shhhh shhh, that's it. Be a good pony, now. Close up."

Unsure if he even can, the pony heaves air through his vents in an effort to cool himself as he focuses on his panel. Biting down on the ball gag in concentration, Rodimus manages to close his panel, with Ultra Magnus moving his thumb so it can close unimpeded.

"Good boy," Ultra Magnus praises, gently kneading the pony's aft. "I can't let you overload yet. Ratchet needs to check those systems. Be patient."

Rodimus is still incredibly frustrated, but the knowledge that Ratchet will be doing one of  _those_ exams today perks him up.

Ultra Magnus picks up the cloth he'd used to wash Rodimus and stands. He saw the eager shift in the Prime's expression, so he knows he can leave him here for a moment. He honestly hadn't been sure that would work, but he'd tested it on his own spike before Rodimus had woken, just to be sure. Exiting the washracks, Magnus hears a quiet, indignant huff at being left alone from the pony, but he continues anyway. He drops the cloth into a basket for later cleaning, and retrieves a large, soft towel to dry the clean pony off with. It wouldn't hurt to make Rodimus wait though, so Ultra Magnus picks up a data pad and uses it to connect to the  _Lost Light_ 's network. He browses over the titles of the reports that were submitted overnight- mainly repairs done, material requisitions, and a handful of transfer requests. Frowning, Ultra Magnus spots a violent altercation report. Apparently Whirl had gone from feeding Rodimus a treat directly to the lower levels of the ship to stir up trouble. Luckily the report says that injuries were minor and both involved refused medical treatment, so Ratchet would still be free this morning. Perhaps the pain of a minor injury healing would deter future altercations- well, for the other bot involved, anyway.

He stores returns the data pad to his desk before he re-enters the washracks where Rodimus is still standing, being remarkably patient. Ultra Magnus hums in approval as he wraps the pony in the warm, dry towel. "So patient," he murmurs, rubbing the towel in circles across the shiny red and gold armor plating. The large mech actually considers giving the Prime a treat, but that would require removing the ball from his mouth, and Ultra Magnus likes the way it looks far too much. Instead, he settles for thoroughly drying the Prime's frame off, applying long, smooth strokes along with the soothing circles. "Very good pony," Magnus praises, actually leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of Rodimus's helm.

Rodimus is surprised by the act, something that Magnus usually refrains from doing while they play, but his engine idles pleasantly as he leans into the strong servos drying him off.

Satisfied, Ultra Magnus tosses the towel off to be dealt with later. He reattaches the pony's lead to the halter before he unclips the crossties. Clicking twice, turns and leads the Prime out of the washracks, through the berthroom, office, and out into the hallway.

Rodimus hesitates at the door. He feels oddly naked without his harness and with his legs completely free. Ultra Magnus doesn't look at him, nor does he slow down. Rodimus is compelled to follow by the pressure on his halter as they make their way to the medbay.

By the time they arrive, the Prime is squirming more than usual. The lack of a harness left him feeling more exposed and vulnerable than usual, and lubricant is threatening to flow out from around his panel while his spike has returned to full pressurization in its housing. Gasping for cool air around his gag, Rodimus meets Ratchet's optics, hoping the medic won't be running "tests" today.  He's not sure he can wait that long.

"The usual?" Ratchet asks Ultra Magnus.

The blue mech hands Rodimus's lead to the medic before he answers, "Yes, and check his feet, will you? He seemed stiff yesterday."

Ratchet actually chuckles quietly, knowing full well that Magnus had locked the pony's ankles for their public appearance. "Of course. I'll let you know when I'm done. C'mon, boy," he says, pulling the pony toward a room at the back of the medbay.

Rodimus casts a glance back at Ultra Magnus in time to see the door close behind him. Ratchet is the only other mech on the ship that Rodimus trusts to supervise, so to speak, but Ultra Magnus usually likes to stay and watch anyway. That's not to say that Rodimus doesn't trust anyone else on the ship, but for this sort of submissive venture you can't just throw yourself to the wolves, so to speak. A crowd can get carried away. It takes one or two designated bots to oversee things like this.

Once the two are in the back room, Ratchet locks the door behind them. He opens up a comm line to the Prime, "No _actual_ aches or problems I need to look at, right?"

"Nope, I'm running fine," Rodimus Prime replies over the comm line.

"C'mere," Ratchet says aloud, hauling the pony into position for a set of crossties he installed for the occasion. Now that he's made sure Rodimus doesn't have any legitimate medical issues after last night, they can get on with their fun. Ratchet wheels a cart up behind Rodimus where the mech can't see. 

Rodimus feels servos on the top of his helm first, skirting around the straps of his halter to feel of abnormalities in his plating. Those skilled servos steadily make their way down his frame- a palm pressed above his spark to feel its hum, loosening armor plates here and there to check the connections underneath, checking flexibility of his shoulders, pressing on his abdomen in places to determine if any internal components were caught together, and flexibility of his legs.

It's here that the pony makes his first sound. Ratchet's touches have been maddening and he hasn't even gotten to checking the red and gold bot's panel yet. Still, Rodimus makes an alarmed squeak when Ratchet suddenly lifts one of his legs and stretches it out behind him. The pony has to shuffle quickly on his remaining leg to maintain balance, and being unable to really bend his torso over doesn't make it any easier. Being one-legged in crossties isn't an ideal situation.

Ratchet hums, making the pony stretch his leg as far backwards as he can. Satisfied, he bends the Prime's knee, actually making his pede touch his own aft. Next, Ratchet brings Rodimus's leg to the front, seeing how high it can stretch upward while remaining straight at the knee. "Flexible little thing," Ratchet mutters to himself before he bends the pony's knee once again.

The pony huffs, still struggling to maintain his footing as his frame is manipulated so easily. Ratchet sits his pede back on the floor, much to Rodimus's relief.

"Your trainer was right about your feet. They could use some work," Ratchet says, picking a tool up off of the cart before he grasps the pony's ankle and lifts the foot once more, bending the Prime's leg at the knee.

He can feel his pede being reconfigured, with components being loosened, shifted, and tightened once more until his foot is forced to constantly be pointed. His heel won't be able to make contact with the ground and he'll have to balance on his toecap. Ratchet manually flexes his foot, checking that all of the parts within are aligned in their new configuration and that nothing will be jamming. Rodimus stretches the foot on his own, and the medic pats him on the aft.

"You're being such a good patient," he praises. Rodimus is more cooperative for these mock medical exams than for legitimate ones, but there is nearly always some sort of impatient squirming or struggling from the pony. Ratchet replaces the foot on the ground, but the red and gold pony doesn't bear weight on it yet. He prefers to remain on his still flat foot where it is easier to balance. Unwilling to let that fly, Ratchet grasps the unmodified foot and lifts it.

With a surprised squeak, Rodimus has to quickly shift his weight up onto his toe, gaining a significant amount of height at the cost of stability.

Ratchet observes the modified leg for any signs of weakness or malfunction, but he finds it to still be strong. Rodimus is just being a stubborn thing.  With a - _hmph_ \- the medic repeats the flexibility test on this leg, much to the pony's displeasure.

Rodimus can tell that his panel is about to start allowing lubricant to leak free, but Ratchet seems intent on taking his sweet time in examining his legs- not to mention making the Prime balance on a single toecap while his other leg is flexed and bent to capacity. When the medic is satisfied with that, he lets the pony lower his leg back down to the floor. Rather than sink back down onto his unmodified pede, Rodimus dutifully stays perched atop his toecap.

Ratchet is so pleased with this that he actually gives the pony's panel a quick rub, pulling a happy but needy sound from him. "Shhhh shhh, you're okay," he murmurs as he pulls the foot back for modification to match the first. This one goes faster, and Rodimus is soon back on two pedes. The medic picks up a data pad and makes notes on it more for Rodimus's benefit than his own, and he sees the first bead of lubricant making its way down the Prime's inner thigh out the corner of his optic. Ratchet isn't sure what exactly it is, but something about this somewhat indifferent treatment- almost as if he isn't here- revs Rodimus up just as much as being the center of attention does. He pretends to continue making notes, but really he's glancing at the medbay's schedule to make sure no one has made an urgent appointment. It seems like the days he expects to be slow so he can have a sedate day or attempt to reorganize his medbay is when bots will blow a tire or suddenly realize that they've been needing some part or another replaced. So far so good though. His schedule is still clear.

Without a word, Ratchet eventually sets the data pad down and retrieves a different gag to replace the ball that's still wedged in the Prime's mouth. Rodimus sees the medic coming, and his engine revs eagerly. Ratchet unbuckles the ball gag from the halter and pulls it free of the pony's mouth, his own engine idling pleasantly when Rodimus leaves his mouth wide open to accept the ring gag that will replace it. He doesn't waste time in wedging the hollow metal ring between the Prime's denta and buckling it into place. "Good boy," Ratchet praises once it's secure, gently patting over the pony's spark.

Unable to stop himself, Rodimus makes another small, needy sound as his glossa runs over the ring. His panel makes another attempt to auto-retract, but the pony forces it to remain closed. Rodimus sees Ratchet's optics darken at the sound, and he soon has a digit sliding into his wide open mouth- probing at his glossa and cheeks.

Ratchet grasps the pony's halter with his other servo to further immobilize his head while his digit slides around, feeling for any injury or worn areas. The pony's glossa wraps around his digit, but Ratchet doesn't acknowledge the action. Instead, he moves on to examine Rodimus's denta for any chips or sharp edges.

The Prime squeezes his thighs together, and he briefly considers flexing his frame until he can press up against Ratchet's. Then he remembers that the last time he tried that, the medic had tied him so securely that he'd barely been able to squirm afterward. His valve tightens, and the pony feels even more lubricant slide down his thighs as Ratchet says that he's got one more thing to check. Knowing what to expect, the Prime relaxes his intake just before Ratchet's digit slides back. His glossa surges upwards in protest for a moment, but Rodimus forces it to lie flat to give the medic better access.

"Good pony," Ratchet praises, spending only a short time probing the back of the mech's throat. He hears the aborted - _click_ \- of the pony's panel trying to open again, and he withdraws his digit. He pats Rodimus above the spark again, and the Prime whines when his oral lubricant is smeared across the formerly pristine plating. Releasing the pony's halter, Ratchet retrieves the ball gag and quickly switches it out for the ring. Again, he takes several long moments to make notes on the same data pad, and Rodimus squeezes his thighs together.

"Alright, one more thing, boy, and then I'll call your trainer to come pick you up," the medic finally says before he walks behind Rodimus to the cart he'd retrieved earlier.

Rodimus feels one cuff lock around first one ankle and then the other. A gentle pat on the inside of a thigh has him shift to spread his legs, and Rodimus looks down to see one end of a short spreader bar being locked onto each cuff. Biting down on his gag, he knows that he's going to finally get to overload. Soon. So very soon.

"Open up," the medic orders after he kneels behind Rodimus, and the pony's panel snaps open in an instant with a grateful groan. Ratchet has to stifle his own groan when the excess lubricant flows down Rodimus's thighs, and the pony's spike springs free of its housing. He places one servo on the outside of a trembling thigh to help steady the red and gold pony. Easing two digits into the Prime's valve, Ratchet begins carefully and slowly pressing against the forward side- feeling components of his spike's systems shift aside as the mesh walls are stretched. Ratchet inserts a third finger so he can apply more force, and the pony's knees nearly give way with a loud keen. "Shhhh, easy boy. You're okay."

"Ratchet, please!" he begs, but, even though the ball gag in his mouth is large enough that his words are completely unintelligible, Ratchet's digits are pulled from his valve and a sharp slap is delivered to his aft. The pony yelps, arching to try to distance his aft from the medic, but Ratchet's servo on his thigh combined with his bindings leave his attempt unsuccessful.

The medic waits for a long moment, letting Rodimus's charge die back down before he presses his fingers back into the quivering pony's valve. Ratchet can tell that the temperature has increased in even that short amount of time, and he knows that further denial is really bordering on cruel. Rodimus has been very well behaved all morning. Besides, Ultra Magnus had, over comms, told Ratchet what he'd done with the poor pony's spike. "Sorry I don't have anything for you to mount, boy. This will have to do," he says with a smirk before he slams his fingers even deeper into the Prime.

Rodimus releases a strangled whimper when the medic finds a sensor node with his first real thrust. He really hopes that Ratchet will wrap an arm around him, because he's not sure he can remain upright. Fighting against the spreader bar, the pony attempts to shift his pedes to afford him better balance. Of course he's unsuccessful and only manages to squirm atop Ratchet's digits. The larger mech continues thrusting, and he does eventually release Rodimus's thigh to wrap that arm around his torso to lend support to the overwhelmed pony.

"Got good calipers and tension cable tone," Ratchet notes aloud, still under the pretense of this being a breeding exam.

That's it.

Crying out, Rodimus bends forward as much as the crossties on his halter will allow, and he overloads hard. His valve cycles down, clenching tight around Ratchet's still thrusting digits as his spike finally expels lubricant that's been held back all morning. His knees collapse under his weight when the medic's fingers spread apart, and the pony is incredibly grateful for Ratchet's arm holding him up.

Ratchet continues gently stimulating the Prime's valve until the charge release peters out, but he leaves them inside for another moment to enjoy the feel of the pony's valve still clenching rhythmically. " _Good boy_. You did so well," Ratchet says, his tone a somewhere between teasing and a coo.

Rodimus continues twitching as he comes back to his senses, and his engine purrs at the praise. When he's able, he puts weight on his pedes again, but Ratchet doesn't release him until he's certain that the pony can safely balance on his toecaps. The medic pats him on the flank before removing the spreader bar and cuffs and grabbing a cloth from the cart to wipe down to pony's thighs. Rodimus turns his helm as far as he can to look back at him.

The medic doesn't acknowledge the pony's gaze, and instead cleans his hand and puts away his equipment. Ratchet stands and once again picks up the data pad. This time he spends so long making notes that fresh lubricant begins to coat the pony's thighs, and he finally sends a ping to Ultra Magnus for him to come take the aroused pony away. "Alright," he finally says, petting the Prime's flank once again. "You're done. Clean bill of health. Your trainer will be here for you soon." With a parting pat atop his spark, Ratchet turns and exits the room, letting the door close behind him.

Rodimus groans, his charge spiking once again at being left alone and ignored even though he just overloaded. He really hopes that Ultra Magnus will grant him another overload before they go anywhere else. The thought occurs to the pony that Magnus may decide to just force his spike back down into its housing again, and Rodimus whimpers as his charge builds even more at the thought.

Now the pony realizes that Ratchet hadn't returned his pedes to normal- they've been left flexed so Rodimus is forced to remain on his toes. That only happens when Ultra Magnus intends for him to remain in his role as a pony for at least the majority of the day.

And Rodimus, with the knowledge that he's got all day to be petted, fingered, trained, and bound, overloads without a single touch to his array.


End file.
